


Temporary Measures

by OrmondSacker



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Comfort, Everybody Lives, Fluff, M/M, Post-Rogue One, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: In the aftermath of Scarif Baze finds that letting his guard down is not an easy thing to do.





	Temporary Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rogue One kink meme. 
> 
> Prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Lugging all that heavy equipment around all day can’t be good for Baze’s poor back. Luckily his husband gives the best massages._
> 
>  
> 
> _Basically any scenario (pre-Rogue One, everyone lives AU, doesn’t matter) where Baze gets pampered a bit because he’s old and tired and deserves love and comfort._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Set post-Scarif, as always sadder than planned, because hey it’s me.

Baze leans his blaster canon against the wall, then strips off the coolant tank with a tired sigh. The tank hits the stone floor with a loud thud that disturbs Chirrut who are meditating on the bed. Baze feels him studying him as he moves to the small portable stove they keep in their room and starts making tea. He trusts the rebel’s canteen with many things, but not with tea making.

“You don’t have to carry that thing around anymore you know?” Chirrut says.“Not while we’re on the base.”

“I know,” Baze replies.

And he does know. He knows that they are safe – as safe as anyone staying at an insurgent HQ in the middle of a civil war can be – that any threat to them that would require him to wield a weapon would be warned in ample time for him to fetch said weapon. Baze knows all of this, but twenty years of ingrained habit and the paranoia born of the harsh rules of survival are hard to shake. So he still carries his assault canon with him around on the base despite the stares it earns him and the fact that it makes his back and shoulder hurt like fire.

He’s not as young as he once was.

Picking up the now boiling kettle to pour the water into the two waiting cups Baze raises his other hand and rubs the tired muscles at the back of his aching neck.

A man less accustomed to Chirrut Îmwe’s stealthy mode of moving, even when he is not trying to be silent, would not have heard the almost inaudible sound of his feet against the floor. But Baze has known the man since they were seven, so he is not surprised when twin arms wraps themselves around his waist and a nose buries itself in his hair.

Baze lowers the hand from his neck and continues with the tea making, hoping that Chirrut would not have caught the movement but already knowing that he has.

“You should stop carrying that thing,” Chirrut mutters, his voice muffled against Baze’s shoulder.

“I am strong enough,” Baze grumbles in reply.

Chirrut lifts his head so his mouth is right next to Baze’s ear.

“It is not about your strength. It hurts you and it is unnecessary.”

Baze just sighs. The tea is done, but he is loathed to break Chirrut’s embrace. Instead he taps the back of his husband’s hand and when Chirrut holds it out, puts one cup against his palm and lets him take it.

Chirrut sips at the tea while keeping one arm around Baze’s middle before continuing, “At least pick a light weapon if you do not feel safe enough to go without.”

Baze sighs again, this time partly in amusement. Trust Chirrut to cut directly to the heart of the matter.

“It is not so easy,” Baze replies. He wonders why it seems to easy for Chirrut to lie down what is almost half a lifetime’s worth of vigilance and survival instincts, while he cannot. Maybe there is something to be said for an implicit trust in the Force after all.

“I know,” Chirrut says softly, the silence after his words marking a space where Baze knows that he should reply, but he has no words to offer his husband. He hears the soft sigh of acknowledgement that Chirrut gives when it becomes clear that there will be no words from Baze. “Will you at least let me rub your back to work out the strain?” Chirrut asks.

“I never could resist a chance to get your hands on me,” Baze replies, accepting Chirrut’s offer for the peace offering that it is.

“Then finish your tea, take off your shirt and lie down on the bed.” Chirrut places his finished tea cup on the table and walks into the adjoined fresher.

Baze snorts amusedly. It took Chirrut 0,2 seconds to go from concerned to bossy as always. Downing the remainder of the content of his cup Baze too puts it on the table and takes off his shirt as he moves to the bed, tossing it over the back of a chair, before lying down on the bed on his side. He watches in silence as Chirrut comes back into the room, a bottle in his hand.

The sleeveless, black shirt and black pants Chirrut now wears in lieu of a robe, shows off the muscles on is body in a way that Baze appreciates. It reminds him of how Chirrut often dressed when they were younger, back in the temple, before they got together. He would put himself on display in front of Baze every chance he got, something Baze had always enjoyed even before he admitted to himself how he felt about the other Guardian.

“Enjoying the view?” Chirrut asks.

Baze smiles, not at all surprised that Chirrut has in part read his line of thought.

“Do you blame me?”

Chirrut grins, sits down on the edge of the bed and toes off his boots.

“Not in the least, I just wanted to know that’s all.”

“I enjoy it.”

Chirrut’s smile softens. “Roll over on your stomach.”

Baze follows the order in silence, tensing for a moment as Chirrut settles down, straddling his hips.

“Something wrong?” Chirrut asks.

“Nothing, go on,” Baze replies, not wanting to admit how tense his nerves seems to be running today.

The momentary silence that follows makes Baze wonder if Chirrut is going to argue about it, but when he hears the sound of the bottle lid being unscrewed he knows the subject is dropped. For now.

Strong hands, fingertips callused from weapon use, the palms anointed in oil, starts to caress the middle of his back, slowly working their way up to his shoulders. Lazily they slide beneath his hair and starts working on his neck, skillfully dancing over tense, hard muscles, teasing out the knots made by too great a strain held for too long.

Baze sighs deeply, the sound smothered by the pillow his face is buried in, as Chirrut’s hands continue their work, meticulously unknotting first Baze’s shoulders and then working their way down his back. They skim down his flanks, their touch firm enough not to tickle, before coming to rest on the small of his back.

“Lift up.”

Baze obeys without thinking, his mind half dazed and relaxed, and lifts up his hips. Chirrut’s hand quickly slides beneath and deftly undoes both belt and buttons, then pulls off his pants, leaving Baze naked. Then he goes to work again, first on the small of Baze’s back, continuing down across his ass, and the back of his thighs and skins.  

The hands come to rest on his ankles, fingers circling them as they softly stroke the skin.

“Turn over.”

Flopping over on his back Baze puts his arms up above his head, stretching his muscles from head til toe. A smile passes his lips when he feels a soft kiss be pressed against one knee, before Chirrut climbs up to straddle Baze’s hips again, his hands coming to rest on his stomach.

“Feeling better, my light?” Chirrut asks.

“I do. Thank you.”

Chirrut’s hands are rubbing small circles on Baze’s middle and his eyes begins to drift close again, enjoying the gentle peace of the touch. The hands work their way up his chest, now more a caress than a massage, before finally stopping on his biceps.

Part of Baze feels that he should open his eyes again, say something maybe, but he’s too damn comfortable right now to move.

He feels Chirrut lean down and kiss him, as he moves off him and pulls the blankets up to cover him. Baze reaches out an arm and wraps it around Chirrut before he can move further away.

“Stay,” he mutters.

“Of course.” Chirrut settles down next to him, one hand running through Baze’s long hair.

“I’ll try,” Baze continues after a moment, feeling a need to address Chirrut’s earlier point before fully drifting off to sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Try to find a lighter weapon,” Baze clarifies.

He doubts he’ll feel relaxed enough any time soon to walk around unarmed, but he can promise this much.  

Chirrut’s lips are pressed against his temple. “Rest,” his husband whispers in his ear. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

With that promise Baze suddenly feels too tired to move or even speak again.  With a deep sigh he lets sleep claim him, trusting Chirrut to keep them both safe should the need arise.


End file.
